<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Ignis et Sanguis (Idus Majorae) by Sharyrazade</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765995">Ignis et Sanguis (Idus Majorae)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharyrazade/pseuds/Sharyrazade'>Sharyrazade</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses, Julius Caesar - Shakespeare, The Legend of Zelda &amp; Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Majora's Mask</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>A Song of Ice and Fire References, Bad Ending, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, Dark Crossover, Demons, Dysfunctional Family, Dystopia, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/F, F/M, False Accusations, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Black Eagles Route Spoilers, Game of Thrones References, Gaslighting, Gen, God Complex, Historical Accuracy, Historical References, Human Experimentation, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Literary References &amp; Allusions, Major Illness, Mental Health Issues, Moral Dilemmas, Multi, Narcissism, Near Death Experiences, Politics, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-War, Power Imbalance, Prophetic Dreams, Psychological Drama, Psychological Horror, References to Shakespeare, Relationship Problems, Religious Cults, Religious Imagery &amp; Symbolism, Religious Persecution, Self-Hatred, Supernatural Elements, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Worldbuilding, suicide baiting, suicide ideation</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 03:09:34</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>17,102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26765995</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharyrazade/pseuds/Sharyrazade</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Absurd as it may have sounded, even in her own mind, the Emperor could not help but feel as though this mask was watching her. Which was utterly ridiculous- there was no such thing as a living mask!</em>
</p>
<p> <em>"I don't like this mask, Hubert." she said at last, handing it off to her loyal retainer. "Dispose of it at once."</em></p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Dorothea Arnault/Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Bernadetta von Varley, Julius Caesar/Calpurnia Pisonis, Marcus Junius Brutus the Younger/Porcia Catonis, Minor or Background Relationship(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Act 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/21656224">O Deus Tenebrarum (Throne of the Demon Thief)</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharyrazade/pseuds/Sharyrazade">Sharyrazade</a>.
        </li>
        <li>
            Inspired by

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24976549">A Mother's (Healing) Song</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sharyrazade/pseuds/Sharyrazade">Sharyrazade</a>.
        </li>

    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Well, to my knowledge, Majora is not a proper noun in Latin, but that's not really important. What is important is that these are some concepts I'd wanted to expand upon coming off of just a throwaway line from Ganondorf in the last fic of this sort. And since Adrestia is literally Rome anyway...</p>
<p>Also, I implore you to look up Mark Burns' phenomenal "The Temptation of Majora" to get an idea of what to expect.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was not well-known, to be sure, but Nemesis, the King of Liberation, was actually interred wearing a very specific funerary mask after his death at the hands of Seiros. This particular mask- an ancient artifact of great and wicked, terrifying power- was said to feed on the negative emotions of the inhabitants of the world around it. So, naturally, it was a fitting object of veneration for a civilization like Agartha. In fact, once the seal on Nemesis' tomb had weakened sufficiently, the mask itself seemed to beckon for the cult's leader- and as its chief devotee, Thales was perfectly content and honored to offer the bloody sacrifices as demanded, the blood of the young surface dweller drained from his screaming body situated upon the sacrificial altar to the mask's pedestal.</p>

<p></p><div class="">
  <p><em>"Now that those meddling demi-humans and their infernal song is no more, this world may actually be a half-decent place for some festivities."</em> came the hexing implement's unnatural voice. <em>"Given the fact that cursed 'war god' can no longer pursue me either, I do quite like my prospects."</em></p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>"Has this oblation been to your liking, O Great Spirit of Chaos?" inquired the cult's leader, glee audible in his tone.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>In its inhuman, ethereal, demonic voice, the artifact made its pleasure with its devotees clear. <em>"You have done well, my children...my last encounter with a thrice-cursed 'hero' has left me in such a state and your experiments to give me some semblance of my original form have proceeded splendidly."</em> the mask congratulated. <em>"But it is not enough- my power is still but a speck of what it should be. From the surface dwellers...I need...more terror...I need...more rage...I need...more hatred! Bring me more terror...bring me more rage...bring me more hatred! Take me to their very source!"</em></p>
  <p> </p>
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>It was rather bold of those brigands to run their raiding operations just outside of the capital, thought Edelgard. Especially when the Imperial Guard was on maneuvers in that exact same area. Still, it was rather necessary- if for no other reason than the sake of law and order- for them to be destroyed and destroyed at once. Especially seeing that they fought like men possessed by something.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Still, there was some interesting cargo recovered from the skirmish against the bandits, not least of these objects was the one Edelgard now held in her gauntleted hands, staring back at her with these unnerving, orange-yellow eyes with wicked green pupils, its outer rim colored with a visceral, purple-and-red color scheme and marked with a series of ten technicolor spikes. Absurd as it may have sounded, even in her own mind, the Emperor could not help but feel as though this mask was watching her. Which was utterly ridiculous- there was no such thing as a living mask!</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"I don't like this mask, Hubert." she said at last, handing it off to her loyal retainer. "Dispose of it at once."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>As befitting his calling in life, Hubert bowed lightly at the waist. "As you wish, Your Majesty." he responded. "Any particular stipulations concerning the method?"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Edelgard give him an are-you-utterly-stupid sort of look. "No, I would like you to freeze it and sail it out to sea. The same way I always prefer to dispose of things."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>At that moment, an imperial guard came jogging into the hall, giving a bow similar to Lord Vestra, wearing a troubled expression. "Your Majesty, we've detained an intruder!" he reported. "He's demanding an audience with you- he claims to be on an urgent mission."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The Emperor scoffed, still having quite a bit of work ahead of her this evening. "Who is he?" she inquired.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"He won't say, ma'am. He just claims it's urgent that he speak with you."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Is this some kind of joke? Trying to make a fool of me? Detain him at once. I'll deal with him later."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The soldier bowed just as dutifully. "At once, my liege!"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>He'd seen a lot of odd things, Linhardt thought. Edelgard squaring off with a mask was probably only about midway on said list of bizarre things. Then again, it was a really evil-looking mask, so he did not fault her for disliking it. On the other hand, the mask was (supposedly) facing off against a really evil-looking woman- Linhardt let the thought die- smothered it, more like. Still, as her hand, he would try (being the operative term) to convince her not to be so aggressive with this intruder- something told him that he may have something valuable to say.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Still, as he returned to his study in the dungeons of the palace, as he looked into the mask's eerily-captivating gaze, Hubert was some how inexplicably...disturbed. And he was a disturbing man. No, Her Majesty was correct, Hubert reassured himself. She could dislike said mask for completely unrelated reasons to anything untoward about it. It was objectively, a hideous mask, he thought, tucking it under his shoulder. As he proceeded through the considerable complex of subterranean laboratories in which his study lie at the center, in one of the main test subject areas, Hubert was accosted by the one of the scientists- the crest experimentation research and development head- looking rather worried. "Lord Hubert, when should the next ore shipment arrive?" he inquired. "We are running dangerously low and-"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Lord Sven insists there's been a delay." he informed neutrally. "Of what kind, I do not know, but we should not expect to replenish our supplies before the month is out."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"But, sir. Without Inhibitor Ore-"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Hubert sighed in some combination of boredom and contempt. "The subject's body will be unable to handle the implanted magical energy, go out of control and turn them into Demonic Beasts." he repeated. "Yes, yes, I am well aware. And it is not as though we exactly have a shortage of subjects either."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"That...is true enough, sir."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Ignoring the test subject's impotent pleas for mercy behind the glass, Hubert continued onto his office ignoring the horrible, grotesque noises of bones cracking and flesh squelching as the poor bastard's form was mangled into some monstrosity or another.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Emerging into his rather cavernous study, Hubert looked around his office, searching for some accelerant among the vast assortment of potions, elixirs, serums and poisons he kept on hand, ready for use at a moment's notice. Finding a suitable concoction after a minute or two, pouring it into a cauldron. He supposed he could have just used a fire spell, but it was already past sundown and he still had many more tasks to complete, so he felt compelled to save as much energy as possible. However, in this chamber, Hubert was only the second-most disturbing being present and it was not by a close margin; invisibly to him, the mask's irises momentarily flashed with a wicked, otherworldly orange glow.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Picking up the implement from his desk, Hubert sighed in relief. "Well, let's be rid of you now, shall we?"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Literally taking two steps towards the cauldron, a sense of overwhelming, inexplicably existential dread suddenly overtook the dungeon's master. His mind and conscious willpower wanted to obey his liege's command- something which rose to the equivalent of a religious obligation for him- to destroy the mask. But his body, as if acting purely on some atavistic survival instinct, refused to let him proceed any further. <em>"Don't even think about it, boy."</em> rang a terrifying, unnatural voice in his mind.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Hubert felt his heart skip at least two beats at the voice, just as real as if its owner had been standing right in front of him. Reacting purely off of instinct, Hubert turned around and placed the mask on his desk, heart pounding as he dreaded being addressed by it once more. He must have been losing his mind! There was no possible way he could have heard that! He was the only one in this dungeon...he was reasonably sure anyway. <em>"Good human. You know your place after all."</em></p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>He would not have been surprised if his skeleton had leapt from his very skin with at confirmation that the voice was no mere figment of his imagination. Nonetheless, Hubert's heart and mind raced, coming to two very different conclusions. His lady and her commands, no matter how questionable they may have been, were of paramount importance for him, far outstripping his own mortality. Nonetheless, there was something in the back of his mind urging him to flee the dungeon and never look back. After seconds seeming to amount to an eternity, the wall safe he kept behind a painting provided a solution to this dilemma; pulling away the piece of his lady's artwork (<em>"It's...wonderful, my liege."</em> he fibbed.<em> "I am certain that you will improve by leaps and bounds in no time!"</em>) and setting it against the wall, Hubert frantically undid the combination, just as hurriedly collecting the implement, hurling it into the safe and replacing the painting, much to his relief for the time being. He could dispose of the damnable thing later- no one- not even the Emperor- need be any the wiser, he thought with relief, departing the office to return to his lady's side.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The meeting with Lord Bergliez was not an especially fruitful or pleasant one- for all his famed battlefield prowess, Janos von Bergliez was almost to the point of begging his emperor for reinforcements to help with the revolts in the north and west- forces the empire could scarcely spare due to their buildup along the coast. Dismissing the general with vague flatteries and equally vague promises of reinforcements from her guards, at some news concerning the uninvited guest, Edelgard was not especially pleased. "Is this a bad joke?" she inquired dangerously. "What do you mean he 'disappeared?!"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"It is as Sir Marcus said, ma'am." informed the guard messenger. "The intruder has simply...well, vanished!"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"Unbelievable. The incompetence I have to deal with. Go back to your commander- tell Sir Marcus if he does not fancy a permanent reassignment to guarding the frontiers with Almyra, that you had all best find him- dead or alive."</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>"At once, Your Majesty!"</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The soldier scurrying off to carry out the tasks allotted to him by his emperor, Edelgard sighed in frustration. “Why am I surrounded by such incompetence?” she complained. “I swear, were it not for you, Linhardt and...her, things would have collapsed entirely.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Hubert bowed dutifully. “I fear it is simply the hand we were dealt, milady.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Perhaps so. But that does not make it any less vexing. I swear, it is almost as annoying as that one beggar who would not stop raving about the Lone Moon.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Apart from the mask with the demonic-looking appearance, this was a rather normal day at the office for Hubert von Vestra. Then again, for the next several months, about half the time when he finally lay down to sleep, this odd sort of thumping would interrupt whatever peace he could get. If he had to describe it (which he would never), he could honestly describe it along the lines of a heart beating.</p>
    <hr/>
    <p>At a violent thunderclap and lightning illuminating the night sky, Mercedes sighed as she gazed pensively out the window. As a little girl, she'd heard rainstorms described as the goddess crying. Also as a little girl, she'd fantasized about living in a castle every now and again. Perhaps there was something to that old saying, she thought, describing the rain as the tears of the Goddess. What with everything going on in the world. The soldiers being conscripted from every corner of the continent, the warships being built at a feverish pace; and this was on top of the bloodshed that had already been going on. Perhaps just as appropriately for her girlhood fantasy, this modest room in Enbarr's imperial palace had become a glorified cell for her.</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p> </p>
    <p></p>
    <div class="">
      <p>The lock audibly unlatching, Mercedes heard the door come undone, turning around to find perhaps the one soul she could turn to. "Mercedes." came the deep, silky voice.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>"Emile." she greeted neutrally.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>The terrifying knight took several tentative steps towards his sister, settling instead for one of the chairs accompanying the table in the corner. "Her Majesty tells me you've not been attending supper as of late."</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>"I'm just not hungry most of the time, Brother."</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Then again, how exactly could the Adrestian Emperor, the scourge of the continent, the woman who'd violently destroyed ninety-nine out of one hundred things she loved and held dear, ever be exactly an inviting hostess? The Professor notwithstanding, a famously taciturn woman, did little in the way of attempting to mitigate her beloved pupil's borderline obsessive attempts to verbally assert her dominance over Mercedes, in ways subtle or not ("<em>If you're going to be this ungrateful,"</em> sneered Edelgard cruelly. <em>"perhaps I ought to throw you to my men for a night and have your brother collect whatever's left in the morning."</em>) so much.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Jeritza sighed, knowing that expression his dear sister wore well- he had as well- during a time which seemed like ages ago. “The dead...will not return, Sister.” he informed as gently as possibly.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“I know, Emile...” she conceded. “It’s just...”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>No, she couldn’t bring herself to besmirch the honor of Emile’s men in front of him. After all, a timely intervention on his part had literally saved her life. Felix would never have accepted any other end and Edelgard (obviously very consciously) parading her past the gentle Ashe, already beaten black and blue, lashed to a cross may have been bad enough. But what they did to Ingrid and Annie- the mere memory of it made her angry, ill, and terrified all at once. Gentle and forgiving as she was, the Emperor’s mercy had fostered a powerful, very-foreign-to-her emotion buried in the back in the mind and deep in her heart- hatred- and it did not feel good in the slightest. Needless to say, Mercedes did not sleep well and she had enough experiences to fuel her nightmares even if she were to live a thousand years.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Oh, Goddess,” she began reflexively. “please-”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“I would keep that a bit more to yourself, Sister.” reminded Jeritza. “Especially these days.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Perhaps unconsciously, Mercedes’ left eye twitched in some semblance of impotent anger. “I see.” she replied coldly.</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Rising from the chair, Jeritza embraced his sister softly, a far cry from the terrifying presence he presented on the battlefield. “Look, Her Majesty...she’s still young and hot-blooded.” he reminded. “Both age and her advisors will temper her worst impulses. The Professor especially. And then the land can get back to some sort of normality.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“I suppose. But pardon me for being skeptical when there are all these rumors about another war- just with Dagda.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>“Yes, but rumors are just rumors. After all, it is a fact that Her Majesty did save the both of us. For that, I owe her everything. To me she is like...an angel of some kind.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>Now that she thought on it a bit, Mercedes could start to see where her brother was coming from. Edelgard did in fact, present herself as some sort of angel...one particularly benevolent and righteous. That said, whenever she would list off her litany of titles, the gentle healer was always made viscerally uncomfortable and slightly ill whenever she spoke the words “Bringer of Light.”</p>
    </div>
    <div class="">
      <p>It was for all these reasons concerning her new hostess, that a part of Mercedes was genuinely convinced she was going mad, as every now and again, she would hear a voice. It did not sound like a human voice (<em>”Your eating utensils are fairly sharp, no? It would be no great feat to drive one of them into those hateful, violet eyes. There are so many blood vessels behind them...You wish nothing more than to be rid of the tyrant, no?”</em>) in the slightest, but she truly, genuinely believed it to be present as though its owner were standing right next to her. Curiously enough, said voice made its unwelcome appearance most often when she was forced to deal with the Emperor.</p>
      <hr/>
      <p>It irked her to no end that she could not place the source of the unease- perhaps it was that Hubert had expanded his infamous network of one-hundred-and-one rooms onto Brigid's isles, perhaps it was that her hostess seemed even more self-assured than usual, perhaps it was something else entirely- but for whatever reason, Petra had come to absolutely dread her visits to the capital of Enbarr- the palace in particular. And the fact that her grandfather was starting to put more than a little pressure on her to wed a young noble from the Empire for whom she did not care in the slightest- Caspar's brother (about whom he had nothing good to say), in fact- was probably the least disturbing thing about her visits.</p>
      <p> </p>
      <p> </p>
      <p> </p>
      <p></p>
      <div class="">
        <p>As of recent months, a recurring nightmare had been a feature of Petra's dreams; far away from the lush forests and sunny shores of Brigid were her people, huddled together in a harsh blizzard, both for warmth and at the command of the soldiers- obviously Adrestian- urging them forward, savagely beating or killing those who failed to comply. Petra's heart wrenched as she noticed the gaunt, emaciated forms of her people trudging across the wasteland to gods-only-knew where for gods-only-knew what purpose. But most disturbing of all were the lengths to which she witnessed her people driven. The starving victims digging in vain through knee-high drifts of snow in search of any edible plants or roots, nursing mothers stilling the breath of their already-weakened infants to spare them the further suffering, some desperate, half-crazed men intentionally provoking the soldiers into slaughtering them so that their loved ones could have some semblance of sustenance. On particularly bitter nights, Petra even witnessed some of her people resort to human sacrifice as offerings, pleading with any god that would hear their begging for some relief from these conditions. It was extraordinarily curious that whenever she would have an audience with Edelgard, said dreams would often become extraordinarily intense for weeks on end.</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>But rather fortunately, Petra would not be left alone for these thoughts for very long if a conversation was anything to go by.</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>"And you're sure those terms mean nothing to you, Linhardt?" inquired Hubert accusatorially.</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>"For the hundredth time," said Linhardt tiredly. "How should the phrase 'ascend from darkness' mean anything at all to me? Or any of the others?"</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Hubert was unconvinced by this denial. "Oh, I'm sure they mean nothing to you. Surely, it's not some sort of secret code, meant to communicate dangerous ideas among the criminals, right?"</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>“I don’t know. Could be.”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Hubert scowled at his liege’s other hand, stalking off into the corridors of the palace. “Ah, Petra!” exclaimed Linhardt. “It has been too long! How go affairs in Brigid?”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Petra nodded with a tired sort of semi-smile. “Things are good there.” she lied. “We are hoping that that no war will come to Dagda.”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Linhardt guiltily directed his gaze away from Petra; Edelgard and Hubert’s never-ending demand for the mysterious “Inhibitor Ore” from his family’s mines for Goddess-only-knew what purpose, the systematic institution of conscription across the continent and the massive imperial demand for ships in recent months did little to assuage his concerns. “I’m sure it will be fine.” he fibbed in return. “Caspar is away in the north, so I have not heard word from him; how is your future husband Henrik?“</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Petra appeared as though she wanted to spit. “Alive and well.” she conceded bitterly. “It would be better when he were torn by wild beasts and fed to the vultures!”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Well aware of the elder Bergliez brother’s curiously-indulged indiscretions, Linhardt placed his thumb and index fingers under his chin. “So, why don’t you tell us how you REALLY feel about him, Petra?”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Petra gave a much-needed laugh at this levity but upon recalling a term she’d heard used about one of their old comrades. “Linhardt, I am hearing a term used by some city residents which I do not understand when they speak of Ferdinand.”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>“Hmm, what’s that?”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>“What does ‘take advantage’ mean of someone? It means exploit, no? But why would people say it about him? Is there some other meaning?”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Linhardt’s eyes widened momentarily at the whispers of what crimes Ferdinand was exactly accused of committing. “Actually, yes. Yes, it does have another meaning, Petra. But I cannot, in my wildest dreams, imagine that it would apply to Ferdinand. He’s always been...intense, but never dishonorable to my knowledge.”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>“Ah, I see. So that is why I hear of common people hiding their daughters from him. I thank you, Linhardt.”</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>Bidding Linhardt farewell and promising to write again, Petra began making her way to the palace’s main gates where her grandfather’s retainers awaited her. She certainly wanted to be as far away from Enbarr, let alone the palace, as possible come nightfall.</p>
      </div>
      <div class="">
        <p>For his part, Linhardt had something else on his mind apart from returning to Hevring and helping his father overseeing work in the family’s mines. Namely the question of where on earth did the rumors of the chivalrous Ferdinand being one of the worst criminal reprobates possible originate? Sighing tiredly, purely off of instinct, Linhardt was starting to suspect he had another entry for his diary- a diary of statements of...questionable veracity Edelgard had given him. Distortions, half-truths, obfuscations, prevarications and outright lies; all were eligible.  Due to her habit of actively denying said statements or accusing him of imagining or mishearing them, for some time now, Linhardt found such an approach invaluable.</p>
        <hr/>
        <p>Some people simply needed to be gone from the world, Dorothea understood that fact of life. However, this method of doing so, she would always consider utterly barbaric. Then again, crucifixion was, by design, a brutal, humiliating death. And this evening, on the outskirts of the slums of Enbarr, as far as the eye could see, one witnessed a procession of bruised, writhing human bodies, some of those with the strength to do so wheezing words of defiance and reverence for the Goddess...? Or some other being...? Dorothea honestly did not catch some of the words in question.</p>
        <p> </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p> </p>
        <p></p>
        <div class="">
          <p>Dorothea sighed sadly as she tried to drown out the horrible sounds. She just didn’t get it! The war was over! There wasn’t supposed to be a need for all this cruelty- all this bloodshed! And for what? “Oh, Edie...” she sighed. “You promised...you promised this would all be temporary...and now this war with Dagda...”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Indeed,” came a very familiar voice. “she did.”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Dorothea’s burdened heart got a start as she turned around, only to get some relief at the voice’s owner- she had not had a fine track record with disembodied whispers as of late. “Oh, Lin!” she remarked, relief audible in her tone. “Am I glad to see you!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Linhardt nodded. “As am I you, Dorothea.” he agreed. “But alas, I cannot stay- Father has called me home for some nonsense or another. The mines, most likely.”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Let me guess, the war?”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Linhardt turned his gaze downward guilty. “Our mines are the main source of this mysterious ‘Inhibitor Ore.’ Edelgard says our continued supply is as important as her life itself.”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“I don’t understand it! I thought we were fighting to END war, not bring more of it!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Speaking of our dear Emperor, I remember something she once told me; that it was her destiny to liberate the world from tyrants. It was in my mind, but it didn’t really click until now- not during the campaigns in Sreng or even the invasion of Morfis.”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Tyrants? What tyrants? Who gets to decide who’s a tyrant and who isn’t anyway?!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Linhardt ultimately chose to remain silent. They both knew goddess-damned well who decided who was and who was not a tyrant. “Look, Dorothea.” he began softly. “I know you love her. Hell, I love her too. Not as successfully as you, and perhaps in a different manner, but-”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Perhaps rather mercifully, Linhardt was interrupted, but not by a human voice. No, this interruption came from a flute some some sort- or some other reedy woodwind instrument- the tune it carried was unnerving, whiny, malevolent and most of all...somehow unnervingly hypnotic.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Are you kidding me?!” groaned one guard, already none too pleased with waiting for the devotees to die on their crosses. “Again?!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“I thought we dealt with the one playing the flute already?” replied a second, eye on the bloody corpse with two halves of a broken woodwind instrument unceremoniously shoved into his eye sockets.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Well, obviously, there are more of them!” scolded their commander. “Go find him, you idiots!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“It’s that creepy song again.” Dorothea spoke, noticeable unease in her tone. “I hate this music so much!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“It is rather disturbing, I cannot deny,” Linhardt concurred. “But the rhythm and chord progression do have a certain...quality to them. Almost as though it was composed to induce a trance. And judging by these poor bastards, it seems to have some kind of religious purpose.”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Dorothea scoffed. “Ah, of course. That would explain it. It would also explain why these freaks will break into the opera house after closing every night and do whatever it is they do. They seem to be attracted to the acoustics more than anything. Both the owner and the local residents despise them, but they always seem to come back, no matter what’s done! I don’t want Edie to crucify- want Edie to have anyone crucified, but if I had to choose...”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>A certain series of rather broadly-written laws (concerning “cults and cult-like practices”) recently codified into a certain empire’s legal code by a certain emperor weighing heavily on his mind, Linhardt rubbed his chin. “Of course.” he replied. “I can only imagine the Mittlefrank Company is having a fit about it. But then again, if people really, truly want to do something badly enough, no law in the world is going to stop them from at least trying. After all, you’re doubtlessly aware of how your infamous ‘slumber parties’ with Edelgard and the Professor are seen by the nobility.”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>This scoff more one of fatigue and defeat rather than contempt, Dorothea scoffed once more. “Like I care what a bunch of old, out-of-touch- oh, fair enough, Lin.” she conceded.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>As Linhardt departed, making his way for the caravan of retainers his father had sent to claim him, at a certain unnatural, aural stirring, Dorothea felt that same sense of overwhelming hopelessness and dread. She had been particularly depressive as of late, and of course, Dorothea did not- could not- regard it as a good omen in the slightest. <em>“Why do you continue to hold out hope for these two-legged beasts to change their ways?” </em>inquired the dancers’ sinister deity neutrally.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Shut up!” Dorothea muttered irritably. “Just shut up for once! It will get better! It will!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>
            <em>“It shan’t improve. I can give you my word of that.”</em>
          </p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“Shut up! How many times have I told you already?! Go away!”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>
            <em>“With all my time spent observing humans, I can say with absolute certainty that you are wasting your energy, girl.”</em>
          </p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>“No, I’m not! Edel- She and the Professor- they’re going to create a better world-”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>
            <em>“Cease to deceive yourself! The things you all purport to despise so; war, pestilence, those parasitic ‘betters’ of yours, that gnawing emptiness you feel inside- are any of them truly any closer to being vanquished?”</em>
          </p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>She was consciously unaware of her tormentor’s true, terrifying power, but the question said tormentor posed filled Dorothea with a sort of otherworldly dread and despair. “Y-yes, I do.” she lied weakly.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>
            <em>“Liar. By now, the only true escape from the hell you have helped to create is at the point of a blade or the bottom of a lake with a millstone around your neck. Or at the bottom of a cup of poison- we both know this to be true. Would you like some help? Humans are so creative at ending the lives of others- and themselves. I am certain I could help you to find a suitable-”</em>
          </p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Grasping at her temples, Dorothea shrieked in some combination of dread, rage and desperation. “JUST SHUT UP!” she screeched, just as dizzy, sick and disoriented as she always felt when said voice addressed her.</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Falling to her hands and knees, Dorothea took a couple of seconds to regain her breath before noticing a hand her shoulder. “Miss Arnault!” exclaimed the guard commander, unusual concern in his expression. “Are you alright, miss?”</p>
        </div>
        <div class="">
          <p>Dorothea forced an insincere smile of appreciation. “I-I’m fine.” she lied, even more weakly than moments before. “I’ll be fine. J-just help me to my feet, okay.”</p>
          <hr/>
          <p>After having turned and tossed through yet another restless night, Bernadetta awoke from another of her violent night terrors with a scream, eyes darting around her assigned guest room as though not entirely sure of the threat’s elimination for several seconds before taking a deep breath. “Alright, Bernie, it was just a dream.” she repeated anxiously to herself, as though not entirely convinced. “Just a dream, that’s all it was.”</p>
          <p> </p>
          <p> </p>
          <p> </p>
          <p></p>
          <div class="">
            <p>She was a famously reclusive, fearful individual, but as far as Bernadetta knew, she was not an especially prolific dreamer- at least, she had not been until recently. It seemed as though most of her nights were now haunted by recurring, violent imagery, almost all of them involving her dear friends somehow, the background players seeming somehow...distorted. Borderline demonic, in fact.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Initially, she’d little recollection of the incidents; however, they’d become so recurring, that she was forced to recall every horrid detail. Assorted atrocities from the war, whether correctly remembered or not aside, there were a few themes Bernadetta dreaded most of all. The visions of an increasingly-ragged Caspar being forced to fight Demonic Beasts in the coliseum for the amusement of the braying, bloodthirsty crowd, Edelgard looking rather pleased with herself in contrast to the abject horror and pain in the expression of the kindly Maria von Bergliez, were naturally terrifying. Mercifully, she was (generally) not forced to witness the ordeals suffered by the Petra and Mercedes of her dreams- but their audible protests and struggling and the just-as-audible aggression from the imperial guards made what was happening to them obvious even to someone as sheltered as Bernadetta.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>But the worst part of said visions? That Bernadetta found herself powerless to do anything at all to aid them, as though she was frozen in place by some force of demonic, otherworldly evil and taunted by her father’s admonishments of her uselessness all at once. And these tendencies all came to a head when they involved the spectacle of Ferdinand being murdered, perhaps the most graphic, terrifying dreams of all; for whatever reason, always- literally always- involved fire- either done personally by her or at Edelgard’s command with some nonsense word she could never quite place. All of her screams, pleas and attempts to reason with the emperor did little to change his fate. Perhaps just as appropriately (given the status of her proxy) as the smug, self-satisfaction at his liege sentencing Ferdinand to burn, said night terrors only seemed to intensify whenever she was invited to stay in the palace.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Sliding over to the edge of the bed, Bernadetta sighed. Well, that settled it. She told herself; she’d have to talk to someone about this. But who? Linhardt, Petra and Caspar were all away, she was honestly unsure how to describe the sensations to Dorothea and the Professor, and Edelgard...well, she would cross that dangerous, rickety bridge when she came to it, she thought as she dressed herself.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Dismissing the imperial guard stationed to attend (or to spy on) to her, Bernadetta exhaled as she stepped out into one of the palace’s many corridors. Perhaps a coincidence, perhaps it was not, but proceeding down the corridor, Bernadetta became privy to something of a sensitive conversation between two of the relevant parties to her nightmares as they approached her. “Is that what you were saying, Ferdinand?” asked Edelgard dangerously. “That my orders are foolish and reckless?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The redheaded man’s eyes widened briefly in terror. “N-no, of course not!” he protested, perhaps a bit too strongly. “I am simply saying that we will need some more time to prepare- what with supplies being diverted to the war effort and all-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“So my foreign policy is stupid as well?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Th-that’s not it at all, Your Majesty! I just-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>As though to silence him and his objections, Edelgard raised a gauntleted hand in Ferdinand’s face. “Enough excuses. You and your men will depart for the northern sands as soon as possible, kill the cultist commanders, destroy their idols along with any and all resistance. With the equipment and supplies you are allotted. Have I made myself understood?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Ferdinand sighed in defeat. “Yes, Your Majesty.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Good. See that it gets done.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Not unlike a slightly-wounded mouse granted a reprieve by a particularly-vindictive housecat, Ferdinand scampered down the hallway to relay his orders to his men, nonetheless offering one of his progressively-rarer smiles once his eyes met Bernadetta’s.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>And speaking of expressions, while her tone betrayed her foul mood, Edelgard managed something of a tired, semi-smile for her guest. “Good morning, Bernadetta.” she greeted halfheartedly. “Has your stay in the palace been to your liking?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Yes, everything’s fine.” she fibbed. “Great, even!”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Nonetheless, the Emperor recognized that panicked look in her guest’s eyes and was having none of it this morning. “Is this still about those nightmares of yours?” she inquired shortly.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Caught red-handed, the recluse could only come clean. “W-well, yes.” she confessed.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Edelgard rolled her violet eyes. “A grown woman screaming in terror and running to bother another grown woman about a bad dream?” she scoffed. “Do you have any idea how childish you’re being?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Bernadetta turned her gaze downward. “I know it’s silly and childish,” she admitted guiltily. “but I-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“I swear, it’s always one thing or another with you. And you still do this knowing all of the things I have to handle- all the nonsense I have to deal with. Why can’t you be more like Caspar? He’s positive to a fault and doesn’t interrupt imperial business with little trifles like this.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“...Y-you’re right, Edelgard- Your Majesty...I’m sorry for bothering you like this.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Feeling rather drained already as Edelgard stormed off to whatever business she was tasked with, Bernadetta sighed tiredly. She’d never been exactly close to her own mother and she’d always wanted an older sister- perhaps spurred on by the comparisons she was fond of making with Petra, Bernadetta, for how uncomfortable some of her mannerisms and (alleged) actions made her, had come to see the emperor as an ersatz elder sister of sorts. But then why couldn’t she talk about this kind of thing with her? Or at least, why did her idol always seem so disinterested? Bernadetta understood that she was a busy, busy woman, but such invalidation was quite disheartening.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>And speaking of discomfort, en route to consult with one of the few other female figures in her life she could confide in, she walked in on a very uncomfortable conversation.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“...that’s precisely WHY you need to keep your wits about you, Manuela!” spoke Hanneman, genuine concern in his tone. “You know predators like him love it when-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“It’s times like this when I can’t help but think you’re going senile, Hanneman.” she retorted. “Ferdinand? Of all people?! I’d think a man of science wouldn’t give gutter rumors like those a second thought!”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Man of science or not, you have not been a young man, my friend. One does not simply get a reputation like such for no reason-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Believe you me, I know a predator when I’m in the presence of one-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“...Um...am I interrupting something, professors?” inquired Bernadetta gingerly.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Both Manuela and Hanneman’s expressions turned to one of unpleasant surprise before the former composed herself. “Oh, of course not, Bernadetta dear!” insisted Manuela. “Hanneman is being an old fool, but what else is new?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The older man huffed in derision as he turned to leave. “I swear, this woman’s carelessness will be the death of her...”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Rather conspicuously, Bernadetta avoided meeting the gaze of perhaps the one older woman in whom she could confide. “Professor Manuela...” she began. “C-can we talk in your office for a bit? Again, I’m so, so sorry to bother you-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Oh, no, it’s no bother! Come! You’re far better company than I’ve had as of late anyway.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The medical wing in the palace provided for her in the imperial palace was rather expansive, with the finest technology and medicines available. Then again, Her Majesty’s generosity did come with some strings (<em>”And just a bit of friendly advice.”</em> began Edelgard, her tone somehow ominous. <em>“Carry out your duties and don’t ask any questions- understood, “professor?”</em>)  attached.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Leading Bernadetta into her personal office, the recluse closed the door behind them. “Now, what’s troubling you so much, sweetie?” inquired Manuela, sitting down at her desk. “You’re not feeling sick, are you?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Finally sitting down across from her, Bernadetta inhaled deeply. “No, not really.” she admitted. “I...don’t know exactly how to put this, but...Professor Manuela...have you ever done something- or been a part of something- you knew to be wrong, but you couldn’t admit to it to yourself until later?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The legendary songstress looked as though a massive weight had been lifted from her shoulders. “Oh, Goddess, yes!” she admitted, reflexively looking over her shoulder and to the door after the words slipped out. “So many times. More times than I’d care to count.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“So...how did you deal with it, I mean?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Manuela reached for a discreetly-placed bottle on the desk before shaking it conspicuously, revealing it to be three-fourths empty.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Bernadetta sighed. “Oh, right.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Interestingly enough, after a good thirty seconds of awkward, depressive silence, the younger woman- not exactly known for her loquacious nature- was the one to resume the conversation. “So...what did you...you know, do?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Manuela paused on her reply, putting some thought into expressing sentiments she’d have rather not dissected for the longest time. “Well, you know what they say about hindsight.” she prefaced. “I suppose there just comes a time when and where you realize there’s a line you’re simply not willing to cross.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Bernadetta gave a weak, tired smile. No matter the cheering, enraptured crowds in the empire or the extensive, self-serving narratives put to paper by the woman they honored. “Like selling half a million people of Faerghus to your commanders and friends at home?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Manuela’s eyes widened briefly, already having had some inkling of what Bernadetta spoke about. “That...would be a good choice. Among other things, I’m certain.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Feeling even more trapped and alone than she normally did, Bernadetta sighed despondently. Maybe, just maybe...Edelgard was right, she forced herself to admit. Maybe there <em>was </em>something (even more than she’d admit) wrong with her, with everyone being so festive and celebratory at the war’s triumphant conclusion. Of course, the people of Leicester and the people of Faerghus might see things a little differently, but that was neither here nor there apparently.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Bidding Manuela farewell, she took her leave of the wing of the palace, intending to seclude herself with a good book or ten as much as possible until her return home. About halfway to the suite allotted to her, Bernadetta encountered the figure who’d been a consistent ray of sunshine to her, the man nonetheless grimacing at the terrified maids gawking at him and ushering their panicked sisters away from his presence.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Oh, Ferdinand!” she remarked.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Rather lost in thought for a number of reasons, Ferdinand’s expression lit up slightly at the woman tossing herself into his embrace. “Bernadetta!” he exclaimed, still seeming somehow subdued. “How are you?”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Alright, I suppose. Mother is happier than she’s ever been, and Father-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Only for a moment, Ferdinand’s eyes narrowed into dangerous slits. “Lord Emilio has not been mistreating you, I trust.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Actually...not really. I mean, he’s still not exactly pleasant, but-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Releasing herself from the man’s arms, Bernadetta could not help but wonder if a visit to a certain one of Hubert’s (in)famous rooms, namely the hundred-and-first in the capital, was responsible for her father’s abrupt change in demeanor and almost-fanatical support for Edelgard before recalling Ferdinand’s last conversation with her. “So will you be able to stick around?” she inquired, hoping against hope.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“I’m afraid not,” he reported grimly. “Duty calls both I and House Aeigr.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“So where are you going? If you can tell me, I mean.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“Sreng. Edelgard- Her Majesty has tasked me and my men with tracking down and destroying a dangerous cult and its fanatics.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Bernadetta tilted her head in mild confusion. “Wait a second, Sreng? That’s pretty far out of the way, isn’t it? That almost sounds like a punishment-”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Ferdinand’s gaze turned downward in shame. “Perhaps it is.” he agreed glumly.</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>“But you haven’t even done anything wrong!”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>The confident, kind expression Bernadetta once knew turned even more forlorn, one eye on the gossiping, terrified maids. “<em>I</em> don’t need to have done anything wrong.” reminded Ferdinand. “I am a man of House Aeigr; that is enough.”</p>
          </div>
          <div class="">
            <p>Bidding her farewell with an embrace, Ferdinand set off into the city to join his men on their (quite possibly futile) punitive expedition, Bernadetta’s mood was dragged down even further by such a distressing conversation with one of the sunniest, kindest and confident souls she’d ever known. What exactly happened to him, she found herself wondering. She knew his father’s crimes had weighed heavily on his mind and soul- crimes for which he was crucified before jeering crowds. Then again, to Bernadetta, there was only one constant factor in Ferdinand’s obvious psychological torment- it was not so much <em>why</em> the former Duke Aeigr was crucified, but under <em>whose </em>command he was crucified. Interestingly enough, it was the very same soul who seemed to get a perverse sort of pleasure at giving him these exceptionally dangerous, soul-crushing tasks. </p>
          </div>
        </div>
      </div>
    </div>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's not G-rated in the slightest, but I do genuinely feel that's the kind of thing Majora would do for fun. That WAS the kind of thing Majora did for fun in canon; transmitting dreams of your people being genocided (Petra), suicide-baiting you (Dorothea) or showing you your friends being gangraped/brutally murdered (Bernadetta) is not, however, G-rated in the slightest.</p>
<p>BTW, with Dorothea, that was my description of Kamaro's Dance.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Act 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Unconsciously stretching her arm over her lover, Edelgard gave an uncharacteristically-dainty yawn as she roused herself from sleep for the morning. “I just had the most wonderful dream, my love.” she remarked.</p>
<p>Famously known as something of a heavy sleeper herself, Byleth turned her affectionate-yet-concerned gaze upon her. “What about?” she inquired.</p>
<p> </p>

<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Slipping the silk nightgown from her form, the Emperor began to dress herself. “Well, it’s kind of difficult to explain,” she began. “but I was...falling. Falling from a great height. An impossible one, in fact. Like I was...thrown from somewhere.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Thrown? From where?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I do not know. I just know that I was cast out of somewhere very high above the earth. After falling for a great deal, I was sure I would die...until I reached out and grabbed your hand, my teacher.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Me?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, of course. After you took my hand, I stopped falling. In fact, we started soaring together, back to where I was originally cast out- there we confronted and slew-”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Perhaps rather distracted by the complexity of her outfit as she recounted the dream, Edelgard abruptly stopped herself from completing the sentence; even by her standards, she realized just how megalomaniacal completing it would make her sound. “Anyway, Linhardt is due to return today. Having my other hand instead of simply corresponding with Hubert will make things far easier.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I...had a dream as well.” confessed Byleth. “A recurring one, actually. About you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Hm? You sound troubled. What’s the matter?” inquired Edelgard.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Byleth’s generally-neutral expression turned to one of hesitation and genuine fear. “I saw...a statue of you. It...was flowing with blood. Like it had been stabbed.” she confessed. “The people of the capital were washing their hands in the blood.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“That’s...a bit troubling, I’ll admit. But I have had many far worse nightmares; they held no bearing on the future.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Then I saw you- I was cradling you in my arms. You...were covered in blood. I...was begging you to open your eyes.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Having a profound sense of one’s own invulnerability is almost always a part of being young and Edelgard was little exception to this fact. But even she seemed disturbed (for whatever reason) by the specificity of her teacher’s dream, if for no other reason than seeing the usually-stoic woman on the brink of tears. “Please, promise me, Edelgard.” she spoke. “Promise me that you won’t do anything reckless- especially with Hubert away.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Gazing upon Byleth with some combination of guilt and affection, the emperor managed a tired sort of smile. “Very well, I promise, my teacher.” she replied at last.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Somewhat heartened by this, Byleth managed some facsimile of the expression as well. However, there was one feature of the dream which, for whatever reason, she felt hesitant to share with Edelgard; namely the presence of three unidentified figures with blood literally on their hands, clutching the implements of the deed. While they were surrounded by a crowd of faceless individuals and she did not get a good look at the three figures in question, their respective heights, frames and general body language alike made them seem...disturbingly familiar.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It was rather unusual for Edelgard, busy as she was, to make an active effort to greet any of her visitors. Linhardt was rather jarred by the gesture until he recalled the cargo which had returned with him from Hevring- several wagon loads of the mysterious Inhibitor Ore- cargo which Hubert and his minions dutifully took away to do Goddess-only-knew-what with.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well met, Linhardt.” she greeted, a sort of triumphant half-smile on her face. “The landings in Dagda are proceeding swimmingly- I must be sure to send your father my regards for his services to the empire. I trust Lord Sven is well?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Yes, he is, Your Majesty.” confirmed Linhardt. <em>Unfortunately</em>.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Apparently, Sven von Hevring partially shared his son’s enthusiasm for crest research. However, as opposed to Linhardt’s quest for knowledge out of genuine curiosity, Count Hevring’s interest in the mysterious phenomenon was more inclined towards purely mercenary motives...namely, the manipulation of crest stones to act as man-portable charms to dramatically increase the strength and combat abilities of imperial soldiers. That would explain why Edelgard called the ore just as important as her own life, he thought. Of course, his father’s little experiments did not always go quite as planned- when he first confronted his father about the warped, twisted human remains created by the forcible removal of the crest stones, his expressions of complete apathy had seriously tempted even the easygoing, gentle Linhardt to take up one of the blunt objects on his father’s desk and bludgeon him to death for said crimes.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Of course, it passed within a moment, but all of his entreaties- whether intellectual or moral- fell on deaf ears with his father. He had taken no action, true, but all the way back to the capital, Linhardt had ruminated upon the fact that such a man with this kind of power and callous disregard for human life- even if said man were his own father- could not be allowed to draw breath any longer than necessary.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Of course, the emperor’s mood was doubtlessly helped by the hypothesis developed by another one of her subordinates, paying him a visit as well. “I assure you, Professor Hanneman,” she began proudly. “you shall have all the Inhibitor Ore your work needs. Now please, I implore you; tell me more about your latest research.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As though conflicted, both from the questionable origin of the data and Hubert’s not-so-veiled threats, Hanneman cupped his chin in his right hand. “If you’re certain, Your Majesty.” he conceded. “Very well. As we all know, the crest stones provide a massive amount of dormant-”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“We’re all aware of that.” interrupted Edelgard impatiently. “Get to the point.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hanneman’s eyes flitted guiltily around his laboratory, well aware that he was very probably an accessory to a crime against the laws of man, nature and the Goddess alike. “In...theory, if we could treat the crest stones with a combination of the Inhibitor Ore and a very powerful type of magic, it is very possible that we could allow a subject to access an almost superhuman level of power, even allowing the user to stop their biological clock at will.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>As fascinated as he would normally be by such a discussion, the fact that Edelgard was absolutely enraptured by this description- as though she were literally in a trance- was, bar none, the most disturbing thing about her for Linhardt. Incidentally, at the phrase “superhuman level of power,” her violet eyes gave <em>that look-</em> that very same look he so despised. Granted, she did not exactly do it, often, but when she did (<em>”Saint’ Indech.”</em> sneered Edelgard. <em>“How does it feel to face your last moments in the very temple built to worship you?”</em> At the emperor chortling with amusement, the ancient one managed some pained words. <em>“Wret...ched...girl... Seiros...and Cichol...were correct...about you...”</em> <em>“The most glorious moment for any tool is when it is finally used. Even the poison of this world can be a blessing if used correctly, and only I can do that.”</em>), it was nearly impossible for him to put into words, but nonetheless irked and concerned him greatly.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“And by ‘stop one’s biological clock,” she continued, gesturing with anticipation. “what precisely do you mean?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Hanneman sighed in defeat. “Well, Your Majesty, someone of your talents is already blessed with an almost-superhuman level of physical power and latent magical potential.” he reminded. “It is entirely feasible that one could use such a treated crest stone to control your biological attributes at will- even extend one’s lifespan far beyond any human limits- perhaps even indefinitely.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>The emperor nodded as she followed along, as though even deeper in the trance. “Thank you, Hanneman.” remarked Edelgard absentmindedly. “I trust you will have your finest men laboring on the task.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Her Majesty’s wish is my command.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Come, Linhardt. There is business to which we must attend.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Trailing behind Edelgard as the pair ascended the stairwells up into the palace’s ground floor, Linhardt found her exchange with the old crest scholar so inexplicably untoward, that he was starting to wonder if his mind was playing some sort of trick on him. It would be far from the first time he’d wondered as such- hence, his journal of conversations with his emperor which had seemed somehow...off to him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Your Majesty...Edelgard...” he began, as gingerly as though attempting to silently snatch a pebble from beneath an angry, three-headed dragon. “Pardon me for asking, but you seem a little...distracted as of late.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Linhardt.” she fibbed, emerging into the sunlight.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Naturally, such an inquisitive man as Linhardt von Hevring was not going to let such curious behavior go unremarked upon. “That naval expedition you sent west- well away from Dagda.” he resumed. “To what end was that done? I’m sure Lord Janos would have appreciated the ships and sailors.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Edelgard’s brow wrinkled with annoyance. “Exactly as I told you then, Linhardt. Do not let it concern you.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Linhardt cupped his chin in his fist. “Well, if you’re certain. But I stand by what I said then: Tirnanog is simply a legend. You must have frightened that captain out of his wits.“</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“I gave him a simple task to locate the elixir- something there for me. If that is beyond his capabilities, that is on him.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Erm, ‘elixir?’ Are you feeling alright, Edelgard?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Apparently, the emperor was particularly incensed by having one of her favored rhetorical devices turned on her. “Why do you ask?” she inquired dangerously.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Well, since you mentioned an elixir,” continued Linhardt. “I naturally assumed you were concerned for your health for some reason.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Edelgard glowered at her hand. “You’ve been thinking about my death quite a bit, haven’t you? Is this one of the ‘items’ you discussed with Lord Sven?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Oh, perish the thought, Your Grace!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>In light of this rather odd conversation, several stony moments of Edelgard stalking in the direction of her study prompted another rather illuminating conversation.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“This actually reminds me of that whole business at Lake Teutates a little while ago.” she recalled, turning to face Linhardt, still not exactly pleased. “Either you knew the whereabouts of that beast and let me believe otherwise, or you had no idea at all, even with all of your research. Which makes you either a traitor or a fool.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After a mighty battle and felling thousands upon thousands of imperial troops, Indech gave a final, defiant roar, Edelgard answering with a satisfied, contemptuous laugh. <em>(“Weren’t you Nabateans supposed to be masters of this world?</em>”) It gave him cause for reflection, to say the very least.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p><em>Oh, don’t tempt me, “Your Majesty.”</em> Linhardt thought nastily. “I was a fool.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Not for the first time.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>It only now clicked in his mind- whatever he may have told Dorothea (and still felt somewhere in his heart)- that Sven von Hevring was not the only individual who could no longer draw breath if their land was ever to know peace again. It was not simply her overweening hubris, her controlling nature or even her consistently-brutal warmongering that had pushed Linhardt to this point, but they all certainly played significant roles. Rather, the absolute final straw- the thing that smacked the scales from his eyes completely and made him realize their continent (and world) would be a far better place without a certain emperor- was the sheer insatiable lust for power that shone in her eyes at Hanneman’s description of the possibilities for magic-treated crest stones.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Earlier on, Linhardt had sounded out some of these concerns to the one soul whom had any real track record (and that record was fifty-fifty at the very best) of altering Edelgard’s behavior. He had done this even as early as the end of the (first) war following a particularly bellicose speech she’d given in the smoldering ruins of Garreg Mach. A part of him knew damned well that did not sound like a woman who was done fighting, however much he tried to deny it. The Professor, on the other hand, apparently disagreed with his assessment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Naturally, she, of all people, would be the one to view the emperor with the rosiest lens of all. Given her point about the mottos of noble houses and character, and the fact that House Hevring’s own creed was “Vigor and Duty,” he’d been at least somewhat content to accept that argument. However, fire and blood truly <em>were </em>in Edelgard’s nature; the events of the previous few years bore this out.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Even in spite of all the bloodshed she’d unleashed for very questionable gain, Linhardt had still told Dorothea the truth; even if he was committing to the worst crime an Adrestian citizen- a nobleman at that- could commit, he genuinely did not want her to suffer in her final moments. If it were at all possible to talk some sense into the Professor...perhaps if the two women entered the throne room one sleepy night and only one emerged thanks to the knife holstered on the Professor’s person...? But that was the absolute best case scenario. And his recent experiences had only strengthened one notion in his mind; that there were no “good” options in this situation, only less-bad ones.</p>
  <hr/>
  <p>Sulking throughout the lower quarter of Enbarr with his best friend at his side, being overworked and underappreciated, Caspar could deal with. Hell, he even kind of expected as much. But the missions upon which he was being sent- punitive actions against (in the words of she who’d issued him said missions) “cultists and their sympathizers in the Faerghus territories” were leaving a progressively worse taste in his mouth. As dangerous to the Empire and humanity in general as he was told they were, these “pacifications” involved far too much burning of common villages for his taste- of course, that was assuming that the poor bastards inhabiting said villages were not simply slaughtered outright.</p>
  <p> </p>
  <p></p>
  <div class="">
    <p>“My, you seem even more sour than your letters implied, Caspar, my friend!” remarked Linhardt. “And you say these cultists were led by a great bull?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“How can you be so casual about this?!” fumed Caspar.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Sorry, sorry, just trying to make conversation.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Caspar huffed in contempt and fury on the “justification” last given him by the emperor. “A revolution is not a dinner party, Caspar.’ What the hell does that even mean?!”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>For whatever reason, Caspar’s seething focus on those particular words of Edelgard’s reminded him (<em>”I have collected all the writings of the Empire and burnt those which were of no use.”</em>) of another of her remarks to him. While he kind of doubted she’d had the offending scholars buried alive as per the hushed, frightened rumors, but he did not put doing so past Hubert in the slightest. Or was it burying of books and burning of scholars? “Perhaps Henrik is taking that to heart.” he remarked neutrally. “What with his slav- er, trading in ‘indentured servants,’ and all.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>While a gift given to him by a young boy in awe of his feats of strength, Caspar nonetheless crushed the ball he was holding in his hands in fury. Despite his protestations to the contrary, Linhardt knew for a fact that his best friend held a strong grudge against both his brother and Edelgard alike for their actions (or lack thereof) surrounding the sack of Derdriu.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>While always loving a good scrap against a worthy opponent, Caspar deplored violence against the weak and helpless- especially women and children- and always took strong, often physical measures to police this behavior. Of course, this tendency had gotten him in more than a bit of trouble with his father and Edelgard alike. Curiously enough, Caspar was almost always the figure to be (often very publicly) reprimanded for such efforts to police behavior among those under his command, and perhaps Derdriu was no better example of this occurring.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“And that lowlife, murdering, sick son of a-”  fumed Caspar further. “I don’t see how that Marco bastard is still breathing!”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“He’s Hubert’s adjutant, that’s reason enough.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“But still!”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>And Hubert did not escape Caspar’s increasing ire either, concerning the fates of the people of Derdriu. Of particular sticking points for him was Edelgard’s instruction that he deal with the city “as you see fit.” A smart comment from a defeated Claude was taken even less kindly to than (”<em>Still feeling clever, hm?”</em> sneered Hubert, utterly unaffected by the bloody, rapine chaos surrounding him. <em>“We shall see how clever you are when nailed to the outer walls of Derdriu, your body facing west so that you may watch your world die.”</em>) would even normally be so. And the less said about Hilda’s last moments, the better. Needless to say, the sounds alone were enough to earn the pure, unadulterated hatred of a man as easygoing as Claude, to say nothing of his absolute powerlessness to help her or his other comrades languishing painfully on crosses.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Hell, even after her miserable ordeal, bloodied with her clothes torn to shreds, Edelgard probably would have let Leonie go if she’d not used what energy she had remaining to show the Professor disrespect by literally spitting at her feet (<em>”Protecting the weak and powerless, what a freaking joke.”</em> she scowled, blood still dripping from her left eye. <em>“And you still have the nerve to call yourself his daughter! You know nothing, Byleth Eisner.</em>”), an act for which she her condemned to die on a cross at Claude and Lorenz’s side.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Perhaps spurred on by passing one of the many new, stern-faced statues constructed throughout the continent of a certain emperor, Caspar’s frustration had begun to boil over, with a great growl, punching a noticeable hole in a storekeeper’s establishment, earning him an earful from the proprietor.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>While absentmindedly holding Caspar back with one hand from getting into a scrap, Linhardt, while repeatedly tormented about whether or not he was making the right decision, the burned books and Edelgard’s self-assured insistence that she’d “fixed her fathers’ failures,” he was forced to remember his conversation and research about another figure from Adrestian history; one Emperor Ionius the Great, the reigning emperor at the time of the War of the Eagle and Lion.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Perhaps it was an unconscious effort on her part or a concerted effort by the famously perfectionist Edelgard to remove any and all blemishes on the family name, but according to his research (with the help of his “forbidden” books, of course), Ionius, after Faerghus and Leicester rose against him, had in fact, set their castles and towns aflame, murdered sons in front of their fathers (<em>”Well, Claude,”</em> began Lorenz over his labored breathing, <em>“it seems we truly ARE about to be equal.</em>”), burned men alive and laughed as they screamed. And perhaps most troubling of all, with every atrocity he committed, it made him feel progressively more powerful and righteous...until the very, bitter end.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Well, Linhardt conceded to himself, she hadn’t <em>laughed </em>as they screamed (yet), but in the process of dealing with Holst von Goneril and promising him that he would “die screaming” for the thousands upon thousands of imperial soldiers he and his men had cut down, Linhardt, purely by chance during the mandatory-attendance “event,” noticed something...interesting about Edelgard after she’d dragged the Professor behind (<em>”I...apologize, my teacher.</em>” a flustered Edelgard began, wiping her lips on her undershirt before rising from her knees. <em>“I don’t know what came over me! I must have just...taken leave of my senses!”</em>)  some building or another. Now <em>that </em>was something she <em>never </em>did- for anyone. Although, in hindsight, it made her often-found insistence on burning the condemned alive make <em>far </em>more sense than it did before. Come to think of it, <em>that aspect </em>of Ionius’ fixation on fire- especially immolating people- was probably in play too.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Just give the things we talked about some thought, alright.” Linhardt said, the urgency in his heart and mind not communicated by his neutral tone.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“I will.” Caspar promised. “Of course, I have a meeting with- her. Father and Henrik are going to be there too, so I won’t have much choice.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Ah, of course. Will the so-called Monster of the East, be there as well? He’s been Edelgard’s right-hand man since they were children, after all.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Caspar grimaced at the moniker Hubert had earned in recent years. “I’m not looking forward to it, but obviously.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Oh, for sure!“</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“In fact, I’d probably actually rather run into Raphael again in a dark forest.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Linhardt knew his friend did not say this lightly. Immediately after the fall of Derdriu, the gentle giant, only barely held in check by an entire battalion of Imperial Guards, became literally sick with grief and rage at witnessing his little buddy’s bruised, battered (slight by his own admission) body lashed to one of the implements take his final labored breaths, Needless to say, his grief, rage and worry for his beloved sister allowed him to overpower the guards and escape his captivity, cutting, ripping and tearing a bloody swath through the imperial patrols in the city. For whatever reason, apart from his nigh-invulnerability to any weapons, the few, terrified survivors described his complexion as being vaguely tinted green. He’d never been seen, even by any of Hubert’s sources, since the fall of the city, but among imperial soldiers stationed in what had been Leicester, terrified whispers of a green giant stalking the forests and villages of the countryside, slaughtering any soldiers he came across, was a common campfire tale.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Bidding Linhardt farewell, Caspar, still somewhat lost in thought, proceeded to the palace, being ushered in by one of his father’s adjutants already present and guided, rather unusually, towards Edelgard’s study.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Exactly as he’d been told, his father and brother were both present in the study. Hubert was ubiquitous with the Emperor, it was barely even worth remarking upon his presence. However, there was only one figure present Caspar did not exactly expect to see at the meeting, later being informed that they were discussing the in-progress siege of a certain Dagdan city, a major seaport.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“And as I keep telling the other nobles,” interjected Hubert. “for that and many other reasons; I consider that Dagda must be destroyed.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“The terms I gave the defenders were rather generous, Your Majesty.” informed Janos. “With this blockade in progress, I cannot see them lasting a couple of more months.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“With all due respect, Lord Janos,” replied Jeritza. “your terms can hang. I don’t make peace with the Emperor’s enemies. I kill the Emperor’s enemies.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Taking in these reports as she finished her painting, Edelgard nodded distractedly. “That will do, Jeritza, it is little matter. The city will fall in due time.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Jeritza nudging him as he exited the study, Caspar cleared his throat. “Father, Henrik.” he acknowledged neutrally. “Your Majesty.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Ah, there you are, little brother.” said Henrik with a smirk. “How very rude of you to keep Her Majesty waiting.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Peace, Henrik.” she admonished. “This is Caspar’s moment of triumph, after all. I must say- against these cultists, you’ve not disappointed in the slightest. I’m glad to see those...indiscretions of yours were but a passing phase.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Reflexively, Caspar’s fist clenched at the pained, terrorized shrieks of the of the women and children slaughtered (among other things) by the men technically under his command, but about whom he realistically lacked any real means to see justice done- it’s not as though his father would actually see the transgressors punished. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” he answered through gritted teeth.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Edelgard’s expression turned halfway between a smirk and a genuine smile. “Perhaps you’d care to join your father and brother on the front lines. The Dagdans are putting up an even greater fight than last time.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Henrik chuckled arrogantly. “Who knows? Perhaps you could actually get a woman there. Not a respectable Adrestian lady by any means, but a woman nonetheless.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Janos groaned at his elder son bringing up such matters in an imperial audience while Caspar’s knuckles were whitening in his fury. “I’ll think about it.” he fibbed.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Edelgard shrugged. “Well, it seems we’ll also have need of your talents closer to home as well.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“By the by, Your Majesty,” interjected Henrik obsequiously. “Your painting appears marvelous. May I ask what it is of?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Edelgard rubbed her chin in contemplation, as though actually considering not showing off her latest work. “Well, it’s not QUITE what I had in mind,” she prefaced. “since you and Lady Maria do not have a third son. But Linhardt is like a brother to Caspar anyway, so I doubt Lord Sven will much mind.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>The severe, white-haired woman (not even thirty at the very oldest) seated on the throne behind the men in the painting was more or less self-explanatory. The figure in the foreground was also self-explanatory, being his own father clutching a bundle of three swords in his hand at about head level with a solemn, pensive look. Finally, he, Henrik and Linhardt were painted standing before Duke Bergliez in full battle armor, saluting him and the white-haired woman oddly.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Caspar found it bizarre (especially the strange salute), but what was truly jarring to him were the weeping women seated in the background in the shadow of the throne. He could not make out the third, but two of them were very clearly Manuela and his own mother, Maria. “It’s...interesting.” he conceded, unsure what exactly to make of the painting.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Genuinely proud of her composition, the emperor gave a self-satisfied smile- whether directed at Caspar or not, it remained ambiguous. “It’s an exhortation to remember one’s civic duty.” she informed. “No matter the cost.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“A timely message, indeed, Your Majesty.” agreed Hubert, training a glare on Caspar.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Edelgard gave a wave of her hand. “That will be all.” she said. “You gentlemen are dismissed, save Lord Janos.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Still struggling to hold his tongue, he still failed to see how his civic duty involved ignoring the pleas of helpless men, women and children begging for salvation (<em>”Lord Apis, please! We beseech you!”</em> was a common refrain) and none too keen on letting Hubert walk behind him for any reason at all, Caspar held back as the other men went off to go about their business, catching at least part of the conversation the emperor shared with her minister.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p><em>“...of course, Your Majesty.”</em> came Janos’ voice dutifully. <em>“Maria has always been a bit...set in her ways.”</em></p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>
      <em>“I was always taught it was the duty of Adrestian men to set their wives straight when they erred. Myself excluded, of course.”</em>
    </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>
      <em>“Yes, naturally! You are, of course, a very special exception to that rule!”</em>
    </p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p><em>“It is no threat, but a friendly reminder.” </em>came Edelgard’s voice. <em>“Follow. The. Laws. It’s really very simple. Only wrongdoers need be concerned.”</em></p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>This conversation simply<em> irked </em>Caspar on a level he could not quite comprehend. That is, until he returned to the family’s manor in the capital, therein locating his mother (Emilio and Lucretia von Varley had gifted them a life-sized statue of a certain emperor for their main hall) mouthing prayers to herself, her eyes focused upon a specific hidden pattern on the statue.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Naturally, Lady Bergliez got quite a start, almost physically leaping from her devotional trance before she recognized who her guest was. “Oh, it’s only you, Caspar.” she said, relief audible in her tone. “I’m so glad you’re safe!”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Mother...” he began, knowing fully well the source of her terror. “Yeah, I am.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“How was your campaign...?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Caspar turned his gaze downward in frustrated shame. “It was okay.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Needless to say, Maria knew her son well enough to see the shame and righteous anger in his expression, simply opting to embrace him for dear life.</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>Exiting the manor to go for a walk and clear his head, Caspar would find Linhardt waiting for him, the man who also knew him well enough to divine his general thought patterns. “Let’s do it.” he said resolutely. “This can’t go on.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>While Linhardt’s expression visibly perked up, it remained concerned. “Very well. But you realize what this means for your father and brother-”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Screw ‘em. They’re just as guilty as she is.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Good to hear, my friend. We’ll discuss more later. They’ve got eyes and ears everywhere.”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“Letters then?”</p>
  </div>
  <div class="">
    <p>“No, letters can be intercepted- will be intercepted at some point.”</p>
    <p>"Good point. Still, I'm kinda afraid of those curses Hub- he created himself. Kill you instantly without a single mark on your body? Torture you in the same way? Control every last thing you do? That's some scary stuff."</p>
    <hr/>
    <p>While he was technically victorious on campaign and successful in the mission given him, Ferdinand surely did not <em>feel </em>victorious in the slightest. Attrition from the Sreng Desert, combat with well-trained, well-equipped, highly motivated cultists (<em>”Hey, Sir Ferdinand.”</em> inquired one of his men. <em>“Why is it that we always seem to get such bad weapons and equipment anyway?”</em>) hell bent on defending their communities and their sanctuary deep in the desert had taken a massive toll on his men, even before they reached the fanatics’ temple itself. Needless to say, the combatants, man and woman, young and old alike, fought as though they were possessed by something. And that was to say nothing of their idol, appearing to be nothing more than an old suit of armor.</p>
    <p>Being led onto the palace grounds, Ferdinand felt his abdominal wound the idol's trident had inflicted upon him and felt its sting once again. Although, it stung far less than the nameless men who'd fallen under his command, particularly the ones who gave their lives against the fanatics' ghostly idol that he might live. They had <em>believed</em> in him, damnit. Trusted him. Given who his father was, perhaps those gossips that followed him were correct. Perhaps he <em>didn't</em> deserve to be trusted after all? His emperor was the one who'd issued the stipulations for said campaigns, so perhaps it was only correct she receive the plaudits.</p>
    <p>Interestingly enough, it was no nameless imperial guard who was to lead him into the castle, but an old comrade. "Hello, Ferdie." greeted Dorothea icily. "It's been too long, hasn't it?"</p>
    <p>"Ah, Dorothea!" he replied, somehow less energetically than usual. "Indeed it has! How is everyone?"</p>
    <p>"They're fine. For now anyway."</p>
    <p>"Yes, I do hope Bernadetta has not returned to Varley yet; our letters have been far and few in between."</p>
    <p>Perhaps a trait inherited from her lover, Dorothea simply rolled her emerald eyes. "She's doing fine, Ferdie. Don't ruin that for her."</p>
    <p>"What?! What on earth are you talking about?!"</p>
    <p>"The thing about Bernie; she's good. Not like you or me."</p>
    <p>There was a definite chill as they continued on their way to the main hall of the palace. Granted, he knew Dorothea to never be his biggest fan, but granted, this still was far superior to his last overnight visit to the imperial palace when he awoke to Jeritza (<em>"Hello, Ferdinand. I assume you have been on your best possible behavior, especially concerning Mercedes."</em>) menacingly standing over him, a very large, sharp knife in his hand. Still, Ferdinand was compelled to seek answers.</p>
    <p>"If you're talking about those vile gutter rumors," he began. "I think you should know they have no truth whatsoever to them!"</p>
    <p>Dorothea was most unimpressed by the denials. "Mhm, sure they don't. Whatever you say, Mr. Arianrhod Ripper. I bet you told all of those women the exact same thing. And the thing about Bernie is that she's sheltered enough to buy it. That's why you're so dangerous to women like her especially."</p>
    <p>Ferdinand felt his heart sink into his stomach; truly, had even his closest companions fallen under the sway of such slanders to the noble character he had worked so impeccably, particularly after his father's fall from grace and subsequent crucifixion, to maintain? Truth be told, at that moment, he was starting to feel more isolated and alone than he ever had in his life. Until of course, his second escort to the emperor arrived. "Oh, Professor!" he exclaimed. "How are you?!"</p>
    <p>It was a slight alteration from her neutral expression, true. But Byleth seemed rather displeased with him. "I could ask the same. You're sweating, Ferdinand."</p>
    <p>"What are you talking about, Professor?"</p>
    <p>Byleth raised a suspicious, disapproving eyebrow. "Is there something you'd like to tell me, Ferdinand? Or rather, confess?"</p>
    <p>"I still have no idea what you mean-"</p>
    <p>Shortly after he collapsed to the floor, the nearby imperial guards began to surround the unconscious, their commander calling for the medics at once.</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p>For Linhardt, it was rather unfortunate that the man with whom he was most eager to speak was unconscious and had been so for hours following his arrival to the palace. Nonetheless, given the area, he was never at a loss for interesting conversation partners. Whether to put out tentative feelers for aid or simply out of intellectual curiosity. Perhaps one of the most interesting was a middle-aged merchant from the wastes to the south of Almyra's satrap, having bought his small clan to seek refuge and aid from the Adrestian emperor. For what purpose, Linhardt was not exactly certain, but prior to his greeting Linhardt after his exit from the audience chamber, he'd heard mentioned a particular idol gaining popularity in his homeland with some pious trepidation.</p>
    <p>As Linhardt himself approached the audience chamber however, he was able to catch the tail end of a conversation between the emperor and Hubert.</p>
    <p>
      <em>"-don't even bother with the 'actual' Ripper, assuming he even exists. Insects like him don't matter. He's a fucking footnote."</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"Will do, Your Majesty."</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"But about him, I don't see why you can't just use that one curse- the one I can never remember the name of- and put that insufferable blonde whore in his sickbed. Jeritza... would take care of the rest and no one would be any the wiser. Or inclined to ask any further questions, for that matter."<br/></em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"Milady, the curse in question would be of...limited effect on someone like her. Magic would not be especially effective on Miss Mercedes to begin with-"</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"You mentioned willpower being a decisive factor already. Of course she's weak-willed! Weak-minded too! How could that fanatic not-"</em>
    </p>
    <p>Linhardt made an exaggerated clearing of his throat as he nudged one of the ajar doors to the side. "Your Majesty, Hubert." he spoke. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"</p>
    <p>After a brief flash of surprised embarrassment at being caught in such an uncivil tirade, the emperor's expression abruptly reverted to its neutral form. "Ah, Linhardt." she replied casually. "How is our guest doing?"</p>
    <p>"Well, he has an infected wound on his abdomen," explained Linhardt. "he's not doing great if the fever is anything to go by, but Manuela says he'll live."</p>
    <p>Edelgard swore to herself at this news. "Well, we're all hoping he gets well soon." she lied.</p>
    <p>Linhardt nodded. "Indeed." he concurred truthfully.</p>
    <p>Hubert smirked maliciously. "Still, I cannot imagine that her nurses are looking forward to caring for that one." he remarked. "What with his reputation and all. Hanneman was absolutely apoplectic that Manuela would be alone with him. Without several armed guards, anyway."</p>
    <p>Linhardt's expression remained rather neutral at this quip. "Well, that's the thing about rumors, my friend." he answered, two separate individuals in mind. "They need not be true for them to be widespread."</p>
    <p>Hubert's scowling at him notwithstanding, his lady was none the wiser. "That is very true, Linhardt."</p>
    <p>His mind already swirling with possibilities, the gentle layabout gave a bow at the waist. "By your leave, Your Majesty."</p>
    <p>Exiting the audience chamber, Linhardt, while having the privacy of his thoughts (for now), nonetheless took care not to be followed. That said, he had come to a number of very important conclusions. Overhearing that sliver of the conversation, to compliment his casual conversations with some of the stricken noble's men, Linhardt could reasonably infer that Edelgard did in fact, see Ferdinand as an existing threat. From those same conversations, he knew for a fact that Ferdinand, much like Caspar, was genuinely revered by his men for his fastidiousness and commitment to his duty and their lives alike. Then again, Ferdinand had the disadvantage of Hubert's men inserted into units watching him like a hawk and...well, he was not exactly in any position, physically or emotionally, to be having such weighty discussions for the time being.</p>
    <p>And speaking of his co-conspirator, while he said nothing about the statement at the time as Caspar ranted about his laundry list of grievances (<em>"It's kinda...gross how those kids keep calling her "Mother" even though she probably was the one responsible for them being orphans in the first place."</em>)  against Edelgard during their last meeting, he did in fact, have a point. He would not have articulated it as such, but Caspar's intuition was second-to-none. But then again, a couple of random snippets of conversations spoken by the emperor (<em>"How many orphans did you say there were again?"</em> she whispered to Hubert) and Jeritza (<em>"Ideally, we would train our best guardsmen from boyhood."</em>) made it alarmingly clear to Linhardt that this was not something that could be drawn out over a long period of time.</p>
    <p>But how exactly? He knew goddess-damned well the Professor (or Dorothea by extension) would never, ever go along with this. And he had contrived a number of possible manners to see the emperor removed from this mortal coil; from having her rushed and stabbed during one of her processions surrounded by the common people, to the same, but having her pushed into the river before being rushed by his most loyal servants with their daggers, to having the "indentured" soldiers in the coliseum turn their blades on her, he and his own co-conspirators backing them up. Of course, these plans- every last one of them- depended upon Edelgard not being surrounded either by imperial guards, one of her extremely powerful devotees or worst of all, both. Linhardt swore to himself, genuinely seeing little, if any chance of containing this violence to the emperor and her inner circle. And catching the beginning of another conversation drove this point home to him.</p>
    <p><em>"By the by, Your Majesty," </em>came Hubert's voice. <em>"the gem trials have been proceeding splendidly and the enhancement of the support beasts has just as well. An advance across the plateau should be no matter at all."</em></p>
    <p><em>"Perfect." </em>came Edelgard's voice. <em>"Their 'Immortals' can hang. When every imperial soldier has the strength and morale of ten men, they don't even have their vaunted numbers!"</em></p>
    <p>
      <em>"Of course, milady. But with Jeritza and Janos in Dagda-"</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"No, I'm doing this myself. The men need to see that these eastern barbarians are not to be feared, even by myself."</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"Naturally, I shall accompany you."</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"Normally, I would say you should keep things stable here, but you speak so highly of this Marco, that I'll allow it."</em>
    </p>
    <p>Well, that settles it, Linhardt thought anxiously. He'd had even <em>less</em> time and flexibility of movement than he'd first thought. Sven von Hevring, still rolling in the blood gold and favor granted him by Her Majesty and still blissfully unaware of his imminent demise, would be dealt with. Given the unpopularity of the Dagdan campaign with her people, the concerns Petra had relayed to him in confidence and the fact that Edelgard had asked him more than once about the feasibility of deporting the entirety of Gloucester's population to the Sreng wastes, Linhardt was fairly sure he could count on her support. In contrast to his effective-but-brutal father and his disinterested, corrupt brother, Caspar, despite some occasional grumblings from the men under his command, was genuinely revered and respected by them- clearly seeing them more than pawns on a chessboard unlike his current employer. But their resources combined would still not be enough. No, they would still have need of a figure commanding possibly even more prestige than Caspar, familial connections, popular with both the nobility and commoners (for the most part) alike and with grievances against the emperor. He had no choice but to seek out Ferdinand and his aid.</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p>Groaning as he finally regained consciousness, Ferdinand felt his eyelids take a little longer to open than he'd intended. Upon doing so however, he'd noticed someone at the desk in the corner of the room, anxiously scribbling something. "Nhhng," he moaned. "What happened? Where am I?"</p>
    <p>Immediately, his caretaker's expression lit up, bounding over to his sickbed and throwing her arms around him. "Oh, Ferdinand!" she exclaimed. "Thank the Goddess you're alive!"</p>
    <p>"Bernadetta? Where am I? I remember talking to- more like being interrogated- by Dorothea and the Professor- that was the last thing I remember."</p>
    <p>Bernadetta's expression was one of relief, fear and a touch of anger. "You're in the medical wing of the palace. You collapsed in the great hall a few days ago."</p>
    <p>"Medical wing? Whatever for?"</p>
    <p>At this deliberate obtuseness, a bit more anger and a considerable amount of worry was visible on the young woman's face, Bernadetta running her hand across the three-pronged scar on Ferdinand's abdomen perhaps a bit longer than necessary. "Manuela said it was the worst fever she'd ever seen, your wound was infected." she informed. "Ferdinand, you could have died!"</p>
    <p>Ferdinand turned his gaze away from her guiltily. "Maybe...that would have been-"</p>
    <p>Bernadetta held a finger to his lips to silence him. "Just...don't, Ferdinand. I don't care what they say- they're wrong! You're wrong!"</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p>Sniffling and semi-sobbing with relief, Bernadetta continued to hold the gallant knight- gallant enough to literally work himself to death- in her silent embrace, Ferdinand continuing to hold her gently, as though to apologize for all the pain, sorrow and fear he'd put her through. She'd never been especially assertive in the slightest. But these particular allegations against Ferdinand (<em>"Bernie, just don't."</em> cautioned Dorothea. <em>"If he lives, he lives...If not-"</em> <em>"No, you're wrong!"</em> she insisted. <em>"Ferdinand isn't like that! He'd never do any of those horrible things!" </em>The emperor cleared her throat, her gaze rather disapproving not unlike her lovers. <em>"You sound awfully certain about that, Bernadetta. What makes you so confident that he wouldn't?"</em>) just, for whatever reason, sparked a fire within Bernadetta.</p>
    <p>The pair continued like this for a good couple of minutes, just to decompress and take stock of everything that was going on before they were interrupted by a rather masculine voice, its owner clearing his throat. "So sorry to interrupt this touching reunion," came Hubert's voice. "but Her Majesty would like to see you in her study. You can stand, yes?"</p>
    <p>With a bit of difficulty, Ferdinand lifted himself from the bed. "Yes, thanks in no small part to Bernadetta here." he informed. "Is something amiss?"</p>
    <p>Hubert rolled his eyes. "I assure you, if something were amiss, I would have been far less...diplomatic about it."</p>
    <p>For helping him redress himself on top of all her care for him, Ferdinand mouthed a "thank you" to Bernadetta as Hubert led him from the medical wing.</p>
    <p>The silence in which Hubert and his detachment of imperial guards somehow seemed even stonier than his reception from Dorothea. As though their commander wished his hatred could finish the job the fever and infection could not. Nonetheless, the solemn march to the emperor's study proceeded without incident, Hubert obediently rapping on its great oak doors for his lady's approval. <em>"Come in."</em></p>
    <p>Hubert bowed dutifully. "Exactly as your summons demands, Your Majesty." he reported. "The Scourer of the Sreng Desert himself."</p>
    <p>Wincing at the title Hubert had granted him, Ferdinand nonetheless bowed as well. "Your Majesty."</p>
    <p>Rising from her seat and placing her easel off to the side, Edelgard gave him a nod of acknowledgement. "Well met, Ferdinand." she remarked. "I must congratulate you on your cleansing of those cultists. It was...sublime, I must admit."</p>
    <p>The screams and pleas of the women for the idol- Gladio's- protection and mercy still ringing in his ears, Ferdinand consciously avoided looking into those piercing violet eyes. "Th-thank you, Your Majesty." he answered guiltily. "I was simply doing my duty."</p>
    <p>The emperor raised one of those snowy eyebrows in his direction, knowing fully well the answer to her question before she even spoke. "Is something troubling you, Ferdinand? I believe most men in your position would be overjoyed."</p>
    <p>Ferdinand's eyes widened briefly. "N-not at all, Your Majesty." he lied. "I was...just wondering about your newest painting! It is a wonderful...stormy sea...?"</p>
    <p>The painting depicted a figure in the night sky falling from the heavens to earth. While the focus was to far away to determine any features, that much was clear. "Yes, I'm particularly fond of this one." said the emperor. "I've no idea why, but...it just speaks to me. Perhaps because it came to me in a dream."</p>
    <p>Then again, these pleasantries did little to untie the knot in Ferdinand's stomach. In fact, they made it worse. "Er, Your Majesty," he began gingerly, as though his life depended on it. "I get the impression you did not call me here simply to chat about your art."</p>
    <p>Closing her eyes briefly, Edelgard's expression settled halfway between a smile and a smirk. "Good, you don't waste any time. That is correct. As I said, your handling of those fanatics was simply sublime. They'll not be troubling the decent people of this world any longer."</p>
    <p><em>But there were women there! Children! Elders! </em>"Again, it was nothing, Your Majesty."</p>
    <p>"That is why I have another task for you, Scourer of Sreng."</p>
    <p>"May I be so bold as to bold as to ask, Your Majesty?"</p>
    <p>By this point, the emperor's expression was an unmistakable smirk. "You no doubt are aware that nowhere in our fair continent seems to be safe from the scourge of cults and roving bands of fanatics." she reminded. "Even our imperial heartland is plagued by this menace."</p>
    <p>On some level, Ferdinand must have known what was to come. "W-what is Her Majesty's command?" he inquired dutifully, yet dreading the answer.</p>
    <p>Smirking, her eyes narrowed into slits evoking some bird of prey or another, Edelgard spoke at last. "In the territory of House Aegir, one of these cults, an especially virulent band of fanatics, has taken root and gained no small degree of popularity. Your next assignment, Ferdinand, is to scour these lands with fire and blood and exterminate this cult. And any and all sympathizers as well."</p>
    <p>Ferdinand felt as though the emperor had ripped half of his soul from him and stomped on it. "Wh-what?! Come again, Your Majesty?"</p>
    <p>"You heard me, Ferdinand. Destroy these cultists in Aegir territory and any of their sympathizers. To the very last soul. You performed your duty to the throne so admirably in Sreng. I fail to see what the problem is."</p>
    <p>"I..."</p>
    <p>"You shall have your required time to recuperate from your injury. But after that...I expect great things from you, Scourer of Sreng. Or you mean to tell me that you'd defy a direct imperial order? About a matter of national security, no less?"</p>
    <p>Being dismissed from Edelgard's study, Ferdinand, was oddly unmolested by her security detail. In fact, it was as though he was in a trance, torn between his duty to protect the people his father had failed to do and the progressively heavier demands placed upon him by the emperor. A part of him must have known this would happen someday. There was a time in recent memory where he would have not hesitated to call such measures from anyone, Edelgard included, as exactly what they were- barbarism. An excellent example was the emperor remarking casually in his presence about such things (<em>"I am simply saying that perhaps we are being too lenient with such depraved criminals. Perhaps dealing with their kin to the ninth degree would be a viable solution?</em>") and wordlessly daring him to say something against her. But recently, he had just been made so unsure of himself and his own judgement, he was honestly seeing little, if any way out of this dilemma, let alone challenging Edelgard about her means. As he walked the streets of the capital, pondering this quandary further, he took scarce notice of another soul following him before he clapped his shoulder.</p>
    <p>"Good evening, Ferdinand." came Linhardt's voice. "I trust you're doing better?"</p>
    <p>Ferdinand felt his heart leap before recognizing the owner of the arm and voice. "Oh, Linhardt!" he remarked. "It's only you!"</p>
    <p>"Well, yes. Who else were you expecting?"</p>
    <p>For a good five seconds, both men remained silent, knowing fully well Ferdinand was expecting to be accosted by one of Hubert's minions. Clearing his throat, reasonably certain he had not noticed his presence outside of Edelgard's study, Linhardt spoke first. "Might we walk and talk, Ferdinand?"</p>
    <p>"Of course, my friend."</p>
    <p>Walking at a very brisk pace, Linhardt made sure they were far afield of the palace before he resumed. "You know, I heard a rather interesting joke lately. Would you like to hear it?"</p>
    <p>"Sure, why not?"</p>
    <p>"Well, in addition to his position as Minister of Finance, Her Majesty has recently seen fit to make Father her Minister of Plenty as well. Likewise, Lord Janos has been awarded the title of Minister of Peace and Lucretia von Varley Minister of Truth."</p>
    <p>Ferdinand's face crinkled in confusion. "I fail to see what is so funny about this, Linhardt."</p>
    <p>"Truth be told, the only mildly-amusing part of this is that Edelgard has given Hubert the title of Minister of Love."</p>
    <p>"That all sounds...rather sinister."</p>
    <p>"Caspar agrees with you. And you are correct, in one sense, Ferdinand. None of this is funny in the slightest. In fact, it is very serious."</p>
    <p>"Wait, what do you mean?"</p>
    <p>Linhardt took several long steps, as if to draw out the suspense further before resuming. "Do you recall Edelgard's triumph after the war- well, after the FIRST war? After the fall of Garreg Mach?"</p>
    <p>Closing his eyes in remembrance, Ferdinand could not help but be intimidated by the rapturous, almost worshipful crowds of the common people. "Yes. Yes, I do."</p>
    <p>"Then you also recall when Hubert and his minion, at the urging of the crowd, tried to place the laurel wreath on Edelgard's head three times."</p>
    <p>"Yes, but she refused it all three times. Saying that they were-"</p>
    <p>Linhardt interrupted him. "A symbol of the ancient gods. But you were not at her side like I was: She refused the wreath with increasing reluctance each time. And do you recall what the crowd chanted?"</p>
    <p>"Hail the immortal goddess of victory."</p>
    <p>"Precisely."</p>
    <p>Ferdinand's expression twisted in confusion and concern. "What exactly are you saying, Linhardt?"</p>
    <p>The layabout sighed in frustration. "Come now, Ferdinand, you're not a stupid man. Growing her power and popularity with the common people steadily, her warmongering, becoming increasingly fascinated by the trappings of the gods of old. What exactly is it you THINK I'm saying?"</p>
    <p>Upon thinking through it for a couple of seconds, Ferdinand was horrified at the revelation. "What we're discussing is treason, Linhardt!"</p>
    <p>"Don't pretend you haven't thought about it. Thoughts aren't treason, Ferdinand. For now, anyway."</p>
    <p>Truth be told, yes, yes he had thought about it in his younger, more reckless days. But then again, attending the crucifixion of his late father and Edelgard issuing him a very graphic, specific promise and reminder in response to a solicitation  (<em>"And I, Edelgard von Hresvelg, swear this: if you ever betray me- the empire, I'll burn you alive."</em>) for his counsel, made the prospect of defying the "immortal goddess of victory" in any way, shape or form, an unappealing one.</p>
    <p>Rubbing his chin, Linhardt sighed in exasperation, well aware of the enormous gamble which he was taking. "Look, Ferdinand," he began. "I've always known you to be an honorable, noble man who's always strove to do right by his people. And what Her- she wants you to do to Aegir...it's not right. It's just not. I've put off my responsibilities to the people of Hevring for too long and they're suffering terribly because of it- because of Father- because of her."</p>
    <p>The shock was visible in Ferdinand's expression. "Y-you heard that?!" he inquired, his tone somehow relieved.</p>
    <p>"I know you've 'somehow' been banished from basically every inn in Enbarr. Come to my family's manor in the city and sleep on it. I'm having a little get-together tomorrow afternoon. Maybe something will come to you."</p>
    <p>For the first time in months, Ferdinand gave a relieved smile. "Thank you, my friend. I will do that."</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p>Perhaps it was the lingering effects of his illness, perhaps it was that he was used to such treatment by this point, but Ferdinand paid little attention to the Hevring manor's help treating him as though her were the worst criminal imaginable. Then again, perhaps it was that he was so fatigued, that almost immediately after Linhardt had led him to one of the guest rooms, he collapsed onto the bed. Exhausted as he was, Ferdinand did not find himself sleeping especially well, due in no small part to a rather interesting dream.</p>
    <p>Abruptly shooting up, Ferdinand found himself in the guest bedroom of the Hevring manor. It was completely identical to his surroundings, save for the inexplicable sense of...<em>distortion</em> that permeated the very atmosphere. "H-hello!" he called, still entirely unsure whether or not he was dreaming.</p>
    <p>His call received no answer, save for a pair of faint, disembodied footsteps. "H-hello!" repeated Ferdinand. "I-is anyone there?"</p>
    <p>Closing his eyes and inhaling deeply, Ferdinand got quite a start to see a translucent Edelgard standing at his bedside. The presence of a ghostly Hubert and another faceless soldier in the background were little worth remarking upon, but it was the (unusually so) smug expression the phantom emperor wore that was out of the ordinary. <em>"Hello, Ferdinand."</em> she remarked, malice barely concealed in her tone. <em>"I see you're doing well."</em></p>
    <p>"W-well, relatively speaking, yes." he answered truthfully.</p>
    <p>
      <em>"Damn, that's too bad. Not even the Sreng desert, those fanatics, your wound, or even that idol could take care of my problem."</em>
    </p>
    <p>Ferdinand's eyes widened briefly. "Wait, your 'problem?!" he repeated, the faintest tone of indignation in his voice.</p>
    <p>
      <em>"Yes, my life would be SO much easier if noble busybodies like you- especially you- could just fall on their swords. All the others, with the possible exception of Linhardt- even our teacher- are easy. But you? You have always been a thorn in my paw. But nonetheless, you've proven yourself to be rather...useful to me. Unlike that father of yours."</em>
    </p>
    <p>Ferdinand's grip clenched against the sheets in his hands. "I'm...useful...to you?"</p>
    <p>There was something...off about this manifestation of the emperor and Ferdinand knew that on some level. Its body language and tone of voice were, for the most part, impeccable. However, its presence carried a different and distinct sort of menace than the kind he was used to. Then again, Ferdinand was too outraged to care, his anger only heightening as the phantom continued. <em>"Yes, you've been a good little house cat, snuffing out pests for me. Just like you helped crush the Leicester roaches, the Faerghus worms and the rats of Seiros. I see no reason to see why snuffing out these ungrateful, fanatic vermin in Aegir should be any different for you. After everything I've done for them, they still have the gall to refer to me as "the Beast."</em></p>
    <p>The phantom smirked once more. <em>"Or you could seek out an end to your pathetic life on your own terms instead of waiting for my command. The truth is that I win either way."</em></p>
    <p>As strange as the encounter was, the laugh the phantom gave at this suggestion was a perfect recreation of a hearty laugh given by the woman it represented. Accompanied by Hubert's sinister chuckling (and in the back of his mind somehow, some twisted, sickly, demonic laughter), while still technically asleep, this taunting was enough to awaken Ferdinand from his years-long malaise.</p>
    <p>"EDELGARD!" he growled.</p>
    <p>Ferdinand awoke to the sun streaming down on his person, a cold sweat covering his person. He had no idea for how long he'd been sleeping. Judging by the audible commotion in the manor, it was at least midday. But that was unimportant; it was as though he had been born anew after such an ordeal after having come to a realization. Unlike his father before him, he <em>had</em> been useful to Edelgard this whole time. From the very second he had been cowed by her implicit and explicit threats, to his constant self-doubts and questioning of his own reality, to his indulgence of her most tyrannical whims. But that ended today, he told himself, more sure of anything than he'd ever been in his life. Whatever conditions which allowed said putative cult to flourish in his ancestral lands, he would deal with. And he <em>would</em> protect them from the emperor's bloody machinations, no matter the cost to himself.</p>
    <p>Minding his wound as he rose from the bed, he knew what had to be done, exiting the guest room to seek out the man who, contrary to any expectations, had the moral fortitude to see it through. Following the sound of the commotion to the nearby foyer, Ferdinand, while somewhat startled by the trusted few servants behaving oddly, was nonetheless heartened by the attendees to Linhardt's get-together.</p>
    <p>
      <em>"Good afternoon, Ferdinand. I trust your wound have healing well."</em>
    </p>
    <p>
      <em>"Hey, it's Ferdinand! You made it after all!"</em>
    </p>
    <p>Then again, one of their other old comrades in attendance simultaneously gave him pause and heartened him nonetheless. She seemed to return the sentiment, rather uncharacteristically violating his personal space and taking his hand in hers. "Oh, Ferdinand!" spoke Bernadetta, relief and joy visible in her eyes. "I wasn't sure you'd come!"</p>
    <p>Ferdinand nodded solemnly. "Indeed, Bernadetta." he said resolutely. "My people are in danger. I will not shirk that duty any longer."</p>
    <p>Bernadetta's expression deflated somewhat, knowing fully well about what he spoke. "Linhardt...told me everything. About...what she- Edelgard- intends for you to do. It's just plain...well, wrong!"</p>
    <p>"Yes, I agree completely."</p>
    <p>"Just like she was wrong at Garreg Mach, she's BEEN wrong all along!"</p>
    <p>Part of his unconscious mind dredging up Linhardt's information about Lord and Lady Varley, reflexively, Ferdinand pulled her into an embrace. "But...you realize what this will mean with Lord Emilio and Lady Lucretia-"</p>
    <p>"I don't care, Ferdinand. They're wrong too! There's just comes a time where you have decide what's simply unacceptable."</p>
    <p>Gazing into her expression of relief, joy and righteous anger, Ferdinand could only smile softly. "I concur, Bernadetta. Thank you...for helping keep my moral compass true."</p>
    <p>Catching wind of this conversation, the host was heartened by seeing much of his friend's old self back. Having an essential player in his plan was an excellent bonus as well though. "So you've come to a conclusion, I see." Linhardt remarked.</p>
    <p>Ferdinand nodded. "Indeed I have. Edelgard can do whatever she wishes to me. But endangering the people House Aegir is duty-bound to protect? That is utterly unacceptable."</p>
    <p>"I agree." replied Linhardt. "Well, if I do turn out to be wrong and you right about my plan, Ferdinand, your ashes can tell my ashes 'see, I told you."</p>
    <p>Ferdinand and Bernadetta both gave an awkward sort of laugh at Linhardt's black humor, unsure exactly whether or not he spoke in jest.</p>
    <p> </p>
    <p>Linhardt calling his guests to a collection of chairs and cushions situated in the center of the foyer, the absence of the Professor (and perhaps even more distressing for the host) Dorothea, was remarkable, but not unsurprising. Perhaps just as unsurprising was Linhardt requiring to inform both Petra and Caspar that what they were planning, was not in fact, a surprise party. "Good day, my friends." he began. "As you are all aware, the lord of this particular manor is rather...challenging to plan for, especially given his extravagant taste in...gifts, which will take some time to prepare."</p>
    <p>"But what of the g- erm, his 'friends' who surround the estate every second of the day?" remarked Ferdinand. "And I believe his...lady friends could make things rather...difficult for us."</p>
    <p>Linhardt sighed. "Ideally, we would want to treat those 'friends' of hers to some vacation far, far away..."</p>
  </div>
</div>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- The events are out of sequence, I know, but you finally have Brutinand playing his role here. It's especially egregious with the phantom of Edelgard (which may or may not have been created by her house guest) taunting Ferdinand in his dream</p>
<p>- It's a running joke with me in writing FE fics that when characters paint, it's a reference to a real-life work of art somehow related to their situation, getting its start with a reference to a certain Renaissance painting with Link in place of the Archangel Micheal with (OOT) Ganon under his boot heel. </p>
<p>- Another running joke with me apparently is Edelgard's "justifications" for things to Caspar being quotes from a certain (in)famous man. But that could just because her armor is red and Julius Caesar did literally write the book about the Gallic Wars to begin with. Then again, to write about their thoughts as much as those two did...you kinda HAVE to have a really high opinion of yourself/like the sound of your own voice.</p>
<p>-  Also, you may very well have read a fic that did so already, but I'm reasonably sure this is one of the only non-Marvel fics on the internet that has an in-context reference to both the Incredible Hulk and the Janissaries within the same general space. Since the Janissaries were literally the very first thing I thought of with the Unsullied and it works with the religious aspect here too.</p>
<p>And with Bruce- er, Raphael, recall what he said before the post-timeskip ("Just because we're fighting someone doesn't mean we gotta hate 'em!") encounter at Gronder Field versus what Majora demands in the very first scene...so, yeah.</p>
<p>- You all know Sothis-damn well why Hubert has curses to instantly kill, torture people and control people respectively. Same reason his office is in a dungeon surrounded by all sorts of potions. Joke's along the same line of why Edelgard, by her own admission, can't remember the word "Imperius." And since Hubert is already a 20th century British literary reference, I just made him another one here. In addition to Majora making him hear the heartbeat thumping, I mean.</p>
<p>- By the way, with Linhardt, those were all things Caesar's assassins more-or-less seriously considered doing. The famous scene depicted of him being shanked in a Senate session was decided on before he left to wage war against Persia, which was imminent. Also, of course he needs Caspar and Ferdinand to go along with him. Even though they lost a lot of men doing so, they did take down a pair of Majora's minions (basically what an organic Goht must necessarily be and Roman Odolwa with its boss' tendrils as chains)</p>
<p>- And with Caesar herself...hoo boy, where do I even begin with this one? But yes, the strangeness with Byleth here has its origins in fact/popular narrative, particularly the fact that Linhardt noticed something off with her on her knees between Byleth's legs. Given her position, culture and work, it's pretty easy for me to see her as having a rather...masculine Roman view of sexual propriety. As in considering being the passive participant shameful; giving oral sex even more so.</p>
<p>Fun fact: Despite Bernadetta and Manuela in the previous chapter and Caspar's outrage over the sack of Derdriu, the Romans wouldn't have really seen anything wrong about all that. Like selling half a million Gauls into slavery or Hubert ending his speeches about how Dagda must be destroyed, it was just a fact of life for them. And the elephant in the room: You guys know what the Romans actually did to people they defeated in war, right? On a massive, industrial scale? Although I strongly suspect it had a good deal to do with the fact that the shoe was never on the other foot in any appreciable manner with the Romans, excluding the very end.</p>
        </blockquote><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>It's not G-rated in the slightest, but I do genuinely feel that's the kind of thing Majora would do for fun. That WAS the kind of thing Majora did for fun in canon; transmitting dreams of your people being genocided (Petra), suicide-baiting you (Dorothea) or showing you your friends being gangraped/brutally murdered (Bernadetta) is not, however, G-rated in the slightest.</p>
<p>BTW, with Dorothea, that was my description of Kamaro's Dance.</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>